


Please Pick Up

by firefliesinlove



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek and Stiles are Mates, F/M, Gay Bashing, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Content, Sorry if I missed any tags, Tumblr Prompt, slightly AU, umm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 06:09:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefliesinlove/pseuds/firefliesinlove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is badly hurt. Derek has to find him before it's too late. If only he'd answer his phone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please Pick Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tumblr](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Tumblr).



> <http://tsuminubiaru.tumblr.com/post/65750680937/von-gelmini-thewitchway-tsuminubiaru-hey>
> 
> Ummm. This happened. ♥ That art so much! :) This is my interpretation of the comment fic requests!
> 
> It's really late and I'm pretty sure the rest of this hemisphere is asleep right now, so... Forgive me for any terrible mistakes. I've gone over it (while I'm half-asleep) but if you notice any mistakes don't hesitate to let me know.

Stiles feels overheated and sluggish. He tries to move but his body is uncooperative. Too tired. His eyes feel like they’ve been glued shut. He tries to remember the last thing that happened but his mind is a jumble of things and he’s too _tired_. He thinks he and Derek might have been fooling around but he feels as though a freight train has quite literally slammed into him. He’s far too groggy. He swallows at his dry throat and immediately regrets it when he breaks into a fit of coughs.

He certainly hopes that sex isn’t what’s caused him to feel this way. Sure, sometimes they get a little rough with each other. Sometimes he really likes it that way. But even then Derek’s pretty careful with his human partner. He’s been left with bruises and scratches at most.

Suddenly there’s warmth pressed up to his back coupled with a muffled whining and he relaxes. He knows that he’ll be fine as long as Derek is there. He welcomes the darkness that consumes his waking thoughts.

 

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

 

Derek is an emotional wreck. The pack hovers close by as he sits on the edge of the couch in his loft, his cell phone pressed firmly against his right ear. To anyone else Derek would look pissed off. It takes a trained eye to see the tenseness of his jaw. The low, quiet whine disguised as a growl. The pain in his otherwise emotionless eyes. The scowl of worry rather than fury.  
  
Cora sits on arm of the couch, her head tilted slightly so as to indicate that she’s listening closely to the phone call: the minimal static and endless ringing.  
  
Scott stands across from the couch, his eyebrows drawn with worry. He fiddles with the zipper on his jacket while he focuses on Derek and the phone. Allison sits behind him in an armchair, her hand occasionally caressing Scott’s arm in a reassuring manner.  
  
Isaac has taken to pacing the entirety of the loft. He whispers things to himself; to the pack. His eyes never leave the floor.  
  
Boyd is on the ground with Erica on his lap. Usually full of attitude and sass, the two are abnormally quiet. Their fingers are intertwined in a rare public display of affection.  
  
Lydia is deathly still as she stares out of the window. The sun has started to set in the sky. She opens her mouth and watches, disinterestedly, as a crow flies passed. “Anything?”  
  
Derek lets the phone fall slowly from his face and refuses to speak. He pushes the ‘END CALL’ button angrily. The others try to make eye contact as his nostrils flare and his heart beats painfully against his ribcage. They can feel his pain, too. He pushes himself up and away from couch and before he realizes it he’s at the door to his loft, his hand clasped tightly enough around the door knob to leave indentations. He pushes the door open without much effort and he knows the others will follow.

 

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

 

Stiles wakes with a start. The warmth around him is unbearable and he makes a weak sound of protest. He hopes Derek will leave him be for a while. Damn werewolves and their higher-than-normal temperatures. He’s just too warm and uncomfortable now. He tries to move and hisses as excruciating pain erupts from his side and splinters off into the rest of his body. When he tries to open his eyes this time he’s able to but no matter how many times he blinks everything remains blurry and out of focus.

When the heat at his back moves away Stiles lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He thinks Derek must be moving but he can’t make out any shapes clearly enough.  
  
“D-Der-” Stiles coughs out and winces as the pain in his side worsens.  
  
The warmth moves to his right hand and Stiles tries to clutch at it. Instead he squeezes something hard, plastic and familiar. His phone, he thinks.  
  
He shivers and lets his heavy eyelids drift shut once more.

 

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

 

The day Stiles and Derek officially started to see each other is a day that Derek will never forget. It was a series of coincidences, missed connections and accidents that led them into one another’s arms. Derek wouldn’t have it any other way.

He remembers Stiles’s lopsided smile as he asks Derek if he’d like to join him at a restaurant. Scott had bailed to spend time with Allison and if he cancelled his reservations he swore he’d be banned from the restaurant and _please_ could he just sit down and eat a dinner with him? He’d pay and they could talk pack business – and wouldn’t that be a win/win for Derek? Cora had abandoned Derek to spend time shopping with Lydia. The dinner turned out to be more entertaining than a chore. Stiles talked a mile a minute but whenever Derek opened his mouth to make a comment he went completely silent. Later that evening, after saying their goodbyes, Derek headed to the Preserve to run off the food he’d had. It wasn’t long before he practically tripped over Stiles who was sprawled out on the ground with a bottle of whiskey held tightly in his hands. Stiles had looked to be on the verge of a meltdown when he allowed Derek to pull the alcohol from his hands. It turned out that Stiles had sprained his ankle on his intoxicated walk through the forest and so Derek brought him back to his place. The night ended in sloppy kisses and desperate fondling but the morning after surprised Derek to no end. Stiles had limped back to the bed with as close to a homemade breakfast on a plate as he could manage. The fact that he had stayed: he had no intention of leaving. They ate and picked up where they had left off the night before without hesitation. It was the day he started the rest of his life.

And now Stiles is hurt and Derek can _feel_ it. He thinks it’s a ridiculous thing to say that he can just follow his nose and be at Stiles’s side like magic. But they share a connection now. Or maybe they always have and it’s stronger today than it was yesterday and the day before. So he knows he’ll find Stiles. He knows he will. He just hopes he’ll make it there in time.

His stomach churns. Derek grips the steering wheel of his Camaro until his knuckles are stark white. He pushes down harder on the accelerator until the lights of the other cars behind him are tiny specks in his rearview mirror.

 

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

 

Stiles wakes up a third time and realizes he’s definitely not in bed. His back protests painfully against the harsh cold ground he’s become acquainted with. He’s chilled to the bone and when his eyes flutter open he swears at the agony the light causes in his skull. Everything is abruptly very clear. He can see dark beige walls covered in mold and grime. On the wall opposite him is a small window, close to the ceiling, which lets in a bit of sunlight. The floor beneath is an unattractive brown tile.

He knows where he is now. Bits and pieces of what happened tug at the back of his mind and he allows himself to remember.

He’d been on his way to the loft for a pack meeting when he’d been run off the road by some crazy asshole. His jeep had flipped and rolled off the highway. When he regained consciousness someone was dragging him away from the road and he knew he was fucked. The person pulled him inside a rest stop bathroom and dropped him to the ground. It was then that Stiles got a good look at the man looming above him. A big, burly man with a stained sleeveless shirt and torn blue jeans. The man gave him the most horrifying yellowed grin and, without warning, started to kick and beat him with his fists. Stiles fought back but in the end he was weakened from the crash and couldn’t get more than a few hits in. He tried to scream but his voice was stuck in his throat. As suddenly as it had started it stopped and the man crouched down beside him to whisper “ _die, faggot_ ” with revolting breath before he disappeared. Stiles had bit back a whimper of pain and didn’t move from the ground for fear of the man returning for more. He tried to call Derek with his cell phone but there was no answer. It wasn’t long before he passed out.  
  
Stiles shakes as the painful reality sets in. He’s completely alone and he can’t even move enough to make another phone call. He’s probably going to die here. And all he can think is that Derek is going to kill him if he dies. Which is silly, he thinks, unless Derek knows how to ghost bust his sorry transparent ass.

 

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

 

“Admit it… you think this is sexy.” Stiles is lying in Derek’s bed, covered only in one of Derek’s overly large shirts. The shirt clings to his curves and doesn’t leave much to the imagination. He shifts a little and his cock, fully visible now, twinges.  
  
“Stiles – the pack will be here soon.” Derek stands at the foot of his bed but makes no attempt to leave or join Stiles. He can feel heat pooling around his groin.  
  
Stiles doesn’t speak, much to Derek’s surprise. Instead, he grips the shaft of his own cock and starts to slide his hand up and down, moaning with pleasure.  
  
“Stiles…” Derek trails off when Stiles closes his eyes and starts to rub up against the shirt. Derek’s breath hitches in his throat and he can’t believe how unbelievably turned on he is that Stiles is spreading his scent around _that way_.  
  
Derek rips his clothes off and climbs on top of Stiles. When he goes to take off the shirt Derek growls playfully and pins his arms above his head. “ _The shirt stays_.”

Stiles smiles innocently and thrusts upwards against the weakened alpha.

 

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

 

Derek has his phone pulled out again. It’s calling Stiles but deep down he knows he won’t pick up. His wolf tells him that something is wrong. Fix it. _Fix it_.

He drives the route he knows Stiles would take to get to the loft from his house. He never strays from his path. It’s a pack safety thing. And yeah, maybe a Derek obsessive thing too. Stiles does whatever makes Derek more at ease.  
  
What doesn’t help to ease Derek’s mood right now is that the phone doesn’t stop ringing. His wolf whines and he almost howls out. He has to _find Stiles_.

 

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

 

Now completely clothed, Derek is curled up around Stiles in his bed. Their bed. Stiles knows that if he asked, Derek would let him stay permanently no questions asked. But he can’t leave his dad alone. Not yet. He’s long since graduated high school but he worries too much about his dad to leave for anything more than a semester of college. And truthfully he’s afraid that once he moves in things between he and Derek will change.

Derek’s strong arm squeezes his upper body gently in a half-hug. Stiles snuggles into Derek’s arm-pillow and closes his eyes. Of course Derek can sense when Stiles has any type of internal debate or struggles. It’s just like how he thinks he can feel when Derek is happy or sad. It’s this feeling that surrounds his heart and blots out the darkness. He thinks their connection might be saving his life since the Nemeton had cursed him all those years ago. Once upon a time he had been suicidal. Now he couldn’t imagine not living this amazing life: spending his time with Derek, hanging out with the pack and watching old movies with his dad.

Stiles feels blindly on the nightstand next to the bed for his phone. He wants to cancel the pack meeting and spend the night cuddling with his handsome, broody werewolf boyfriend.  
  
“Let them come.” Derek murmurs into the fabric of his red hoodie. Derek’s breath warms the back of his neck.  
  
Stiles keeps his eyes shut and lets his arm hang off the side of the bed, the phone still in his grasp.  
  
Derek is a little quieter this time. “I want them to know.”  
  
Stiles lets a smile grace his lips and warmth spreads across his cheeks.

 

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

 

Derek’s stopped the Camaro and jumped out before he completely realizes that he’s running at full speed towards the oh-so-familiar blue and black jeep in the ditch. He has a sickening feeling when he sees that it’s upside down. He focuses on the surroundings of the overturned vehicle and almost immediately notices the rest stop ahead. He rushes towards it and concentrates until he hears it: a familiar albeit erratic heartbeat. He drowns out the sound of the other cars approaching, car doors opening and slamming shut and frightened shouts until all he can hear is the heartbeat he’s come to know so well.  
  
He doesn’t stop running until he bursts through the door to a bathroom, knocking the door off its hinges in the process, and sees Stiles laying entirely too still on the floor. Next to Stiles’s hand is a small grey kitten.

He drops to all fours beside Stiles and tentatively touches his face. The heat that greets his fingers is alarming and he carefully touches the rest of his body. He can feel the slight imperfections and knows that something is seriously wrong with his lover. Bile rises in his throat and he swallows away the fear.  
  
The small kitten makes no attempt to move. It mews at Derek as it watches him cautiously. Derek regards the kitten for a moment but deems it no threat to either of them.  
  
Derek lifts his head only to sniff the air and lets out a loud, ferocious, desperate growl. Boyd and Isaac are the first to come in after Derek and all he has to do is look up at them and they know exactly what to do. _Go. Find. Destroy_. They’re gone before Derek can second guess himself. He knows Stiles wouldn’t want him to be so violent without thinking but he can feel it… Stiles is barely alive. Whoever did this is a monster.

Scott comes in after the others, breathless, and gives a heartbreaking whine when he sees the state of his best friend. He can barely get out the words when he speaks. “An ambulance – Allison called and it’s… they’re on their way.”

Derek turns his attention back to Stiles and notices the small smile on his face. Derek leans down and brushes his lips against Stiles’s.

Stiles stirs and his eyes crack open slowly.  
  
Something in Derek settles and he lets a single tear escape before he wipes his eyes. “Stiles, baby, you’ll be fine.”  
  
“Der…” Stiles tries to move but Derek’s hand is on his chest, keeping him gently in place. Stiles’s eyes are panicked and wild with fever. He places his other hand on Stiles’s exposed arm and allows himself to take in the pain he’s had to endure. Blackened veins let him know that it’s working.

Derek can hear sirens approaching quickly and he gives Stiles a smile that takes all of his effort to muster.

  
“S’cold.” Stiles shakes. Derek pulls off his black leather jacket and drapes it over his mate. “Wa-… was dreamin’ ‘bout that nigh’ I put y’r shirt ‘n.” Even through pain and a fever Stiles manages to bring up sex in some way. They both smile.

Derek replaces Stiles’s phone with his hand as the paramedics rush in. He knows that everything will be okay now. He lets a feeling of relief wash over him. His wolf hums in delight. Stiles hums right along with it.

**Author's Note:**

> I like to think that Derek and Stiles adopt the little grey kitten and live happily ever after. ♥


End file.
